Banks of Doon
by Subtle Overtones
Summary: A very sad song/story fic. More of a summary inside. Please R & R


This fic is a short song/story fic about Snape's lost love. (Yes, for some reason I like this theme) Although there is a line that says, "The child, yes, has her eyes," it is NOT Harry Potter, and this is not a Lily/Severus fic. It's just him thinking about eyes.

Note: There are three different versions of the song "Banks of Doon," as far as I know. I have "my" version here, for easy reading for the non-Scottish folk. This is also the version/arrangement that I sang with my choir. The two other "original" versions are in the attached pages. "Doon" is a river in Scotland, I think.

Banks of Doon

_Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon,  
How can ye bloom so fair?  
How can ye chant, ye 1ittle birds,  
And I so full of care!_

Severus looked out to the waters of Doon. The water seemed to mock his sadness. It happily bubbled and gurgled by, mindless of the sadness that he carried. The birds flew to and fro in the spring air, looking for the materials to build their nests with.  Severus silently watched them, making no sound, and moving very little.

_Thou wilt break my heart, thou bonny bird  
That sings upon the bough;  
Thou minds me of the happy days  
When my false love was true._

Severus, for the first time in his life, was near tears. "How can she do this to me?" he asked himself. "I though it was perfect. I thought it was love. And now…now she is gone." He put his face in his hands, and sobbed, telling the world that a woman had shattered what everyone thought was a stone heart. Not even the happy birds in the trees could console him. Nothing could break through the black pit of despair he was in. 

_Thou wilt break my heart, thou bonny bird  
That sings beside thy mate;  
For so I sat, and so I sang,  
And knew not of my fate._

He remembered the days when he had loved to teach, when every day he would race into his classroom, because he knew that he would see her after their classes were over. They would meet at Hogsmeade for a butterbeer or two, or maybe just wander. Sometimes they came here, and Apparate to these very banks. He had created some of his happiest memories here. They had sat on these banks, singing sad ballads and dancing to the music of the river water and the wind. He had been happy here.

_Oft have I roved by bonny Doon,  
To see the woodbine twine,  
And every bird sang of its love,  
And so did I of mine._

He had often come here alone, too, and watched the happy world around him. Everything had felt so…right. He had been happy. He would sometimes simply lain down on the sweet grass and watch the flowers grow, the roses bloom, and the ivy twist around the trees. He had forgotten that flowers die, and ivy chokes the life out of the plant it twines about. He had simply listened to the trilling of the birds, forgetting that the birds will fly when the snows make the land cold and dead.  In his moments of happiness, he had let down his guard, and forgotten that all things end. He remembered that fateful day, the day that she clasped his hand, looked deep into his eyes, and said, "It's over."

_With 1ightsome heart I pulled a rose  
From off its thorny tree,  
And my false lover stole my rose--  
But left the thorn with me_

"I remember," he said to himself, "I remember the red roses." He did. It was before she had told him she never wanted to see him again, before she had run from him in anger, leaving him alone. They had come together. In his joy, he had taken a rose from its prickly bush. It had been the one on the top, a deep, rich red, and the color of newly spilt blood. It had been the biggest, almost as big as his hand. He had given it and his heart to her. "I love you," he had said, looking into those eyes, those deep, dark eyes that invited you to crawl in and stay there forever. "Stay with me, stay forever. I will treat you well, I swear it. Please…I love you." She had taken the rose, but as she took it, a thorn caught on his hand, leaving a trail of red blood across the milky skin of his palm. Blood the color of a rose. 

_Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon…_

         "Forget the beauty. Beauty is an illusion. Forget her…"

_Stole my rose but left the thorn… with…_

"I will never love again. Never!" There was no joy in the companionship of his colleagues, and his classes simply reminded him of the days when he would rush from his last class to meet her. "She is dead to me…" He averted his face whenever he saw her, avoided her in the halls. Soon she was gone, and he had never bothered to find out where. Many tears he had shed, but never in her presence. She would never see how much she had hurt him. 

_Me…_

         "Eyes…so like hers. Eyes that are cold yet draw you into their depths of mystery. The child, yes, has her eyes." 


End file.
